


The Case of the Missing French Horn

by Small_Hobbit



Series: At the Drop of a Deerstalker [5]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 15:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10879473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: It began as  whim ...





	The Case of the Missing French Horn

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of this is inspired by the Flanders & Swann song [Ill Wind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jc_BFM_wJMU) As for the second part - did you know sloths are good swimmers? I didn't until ladybrooke (on DW) told me and linked me to this brilliant  
> [Picture](http://500facts.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/sloth-swimming.jpg)
> 
> Written for LJ/DW's fan flashworks "Pool" Challenge

It began on a whim.  In the case of Dr Watson, these whims normally involved placing bets on horses who generally preferred to follow the herd, rather than lead it.  And in this case, everyone agreed it would have been better if that’s what the whim had been.  
  
It wasn’t.  Dr Watson had found a French horn in a second hand shop.  He decided to purchase it.  He brought it home, polished it up, and began to play it.  Everyone begged him to stop.  
  
Any experienced brass player will tell you it is not easy at the beginning.  Dr Watson didn’t find it easy, but he was determined to play and spent hours practising.  Everyone begged him to stop.  
  
Until one day, Watson came downstairs, humming to himself, and opened the cupboard and took out the case.  The case was much lighter than usual, and when Watson opened it, the horn was missing.  
  
“Holmes,” called Watson, “my horn has vanished.”  
  
“Good heavens,” Holmes said, placidly helping himself to another slice of toast.  
  
“It has disappeared,” Watson said, in some dismay.  
  
“Well I never,” Holmes said, pouring another cup of tea.  
  
Watson rushed downstairs.  “Mrs Hudson, Mrs Hudson.  I’ve lost my horn.  I was using it yesterday, and now my horn is ...”  
  
“Gorn,” Mrs Hudson suggested helpfully.  
  
“Yes, gorn.  I mean gone!”  
  
And that was the last which was ever seen of the French horn.  The case, however, would serve a further purpose.  
  
***  
  
Some days later:  
  
Mouselet was practically beside herself.  “But you can’t let him go by himself.  What if something happens to him?” she squeaked.  
  
Dr Watson hastened to reassure her.  “We won’t let Inspector Hopkins go on his own.  But it’s important the gang don’t realise he’s being followed, so it will have to be done secretly.”  
  
“And,” Holmes added, “that also means we can’t tell Hopkins what we’re doing.  The gang have been quite clever in stating Hopkins must row across the pond to join them.  That way it will be obvious if there’s a second person in the boat, or if he’s followed by another boat.  It does mean whoever follows will have to swim over.”  
  
“Don’t look at me,” muttered the Ferret.  
  
“On this occasion, I agree,” Holmes replied.  “You wouldn’t be able to swim that far.  No, the Sloth will need to take the role.”  
  
Watson looked very surprised.  “What?” he exclaimed.  “I thought …” He looked at the Ocelot, who pointedly shook his head.  
  
 “Don’t be so surprised,” the Sloth said.  “Sloths are very good swimmers, and I shall be happy to go.  The question is, how am I going to get to Hampstead Heath?”  
  
“A very good question,” Holmes replied.  “But I may have an idea.”  
  
An hour later Holmes re-appeared with …  
  
“That’s the case for my French horn,” Watson said in a decidedly miffed tone.  
  
“Well, you don’t need it,” Holmes said.  “You’ll never find the horn again.”  
  
Watson gave Holmes a filthy look, but Holmes continued in apparent oblivion.  “I’ve removed all the padding, drilled plenty of air holes and lined it with a towel.  Can we see if it works?”  
  
The Sloth climbed inside and settled down.  Holmes closed the lid and a couple of minutes later opened it again.  
  
“Yes, that will do perfectly,” the Sloth said as he climbed back out.  
  
Later that evening, Holmes and Watson travelled to Hampstead Heath.  They were wearing evening dress and Holmes was carrying the French horn case.  They were assuming the role of musicians, returning to digs after an evening concert, with Watson as a member of the chorus.  
  
They arrived at the pool about half an hour before Hopkins was due.  Holmes let the Sloth out of the case, and he climbed a tree which was conveniently hanging over the pool.  Holmes and Watson then continued on their way, doubling back after a while to where they could hide behind some bushes and be just in sight of Hopkins’ departure point.  Holmes had wanted to get closer, to see Hopkins arrive on the other side, but without adequate cover it was too risky.  
  
They watched as Hopkins set off, and saw the Sloth drop into the water.  There was a splash, but even if the gang noticed there was nothing to be seen in the water.  After a while they saw Hopkins return, and then, to their horror they saw a second boat, which, as soon as Hopkins reached the edge of the pool, tried to ram him.  Hopkins’ boat tipped up, and his assailant tried to hit him with a grappling iron.  However, at the same moment the assailant’s own boat began to tip and a leg, equipped with three very long and sharp claws slashed at the man’s leg.  
  
Holmes and Watson ran to the edge of the pool and dragged Hopkins out.  The assailant tried to climb out too, but was confronted by a brown furry head, which bared its teeth at him and he decided to stay where he was.  
  
Watson took off his overcoat and wrapped it round Hopkins, before helping him to stumble further away.  Holmes took his own coat off and used it to pick up the Sloth, and followed after Watson.  Once they were safely behind the bushes again, Watson opened his ‘music’ bag and took out two towels, which he used to help Hopkins dry off as best he could.  The Sloth had dried reasonably well on Holmes’ coat, so Holmes helped him back into the horn case.  
  
They made their way to the main road, where fortunately Holmes managed to hail a cab. “Baker Street, as quickly as possible,” he said.  
  
“You can take me home, Mr Holmes,” Hopkins said through chattering teeth.  “I’ll be all right.”  
  
Watson snorted and Holmes said, “It would be much better if you were to come back with us.  The doctor will want to make sure you warm up properly and haven’t taken any serious harm from your unexpected bath.”  
  
Hopkins didn’t have the strength to argue and sat quietly for the rest of the journey.  It wasn’t until they were alighting from the cab at Baker Street that Hopkins said, “I’m very grateful to you both for rescuing me, but why are you carrying a French horn, Mr Holmes?”  
  
“That is another case entirely.”  



End file.
